


Steel and Carbon

by DarthSuki



Series: Daft Punk (EDM) and You [3]
Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Cutesy, Cybernetics, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Other, Reader-Insert, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did your arm glitch again?” Guy-Man asks with an obviously concerned tone. You hesitate to answer, eyes not entirely moving to meet his faceplate.</p><p>“Maaaybe.”</p><p>“Dammit,” he curses. “That’s the second time this month alone, y/n.”</p><p>“It’s not like it nearly got me killed or anything,” You argue, gently poking him in the chest. “It was just a little glitch and it uh….got caught in the gym equipment.”</p><p>“IT WHAT?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steel and Carbon

**Author's Note:**

> **Anonymous:** I want fascinated robots asking her about her in depth meal plans and exercises routine. So there's an idea.
> 
> I know it's not too much with what was originally asked, and I didn't realize how off kilter I pushed it until I was 3/4 of the way finished. So anon I'm super super sorry this isn't totally like what you asked, though I can definitely say that writing this sort of situation for the reader was extremely fascinating and fun for me, and I'm pretty damn sure I'll be doing more for this sort of reader in the future.

**General**

Name: y/n  
Eye Color: e/c  
Hair color: h/c  
Hair Length: h/l

**Gender**

Subject Pronoun (He/She/Ect): s/p  
Object Pronoun (Him/Her/Ect): o/p  
Possessive Pronoun (His/Hers/Theirs/Ect): p/p  
Possessive Adjective (His/Her/Their/Ect): p/a  
Reflexive pronoun (Himself/Herself/Ect): r/p

* * *

You are steel and carbon. You are will and strength. Headstrong, proud, and a wolf in human form, you are a m/w with striking e/c eyes that could tear even the mightiest foe into ribbons of weak mental will. People of all sorts stand in fear when they see you, knowing very well that you mean buisness, be it in a debate or competition. Truely, you are the mightiest of beings. Though...you are also slightly without an arm at the moment.

Slightly. It isn’t to say you are without an arm completely, because the one in question exists. Quite a strong one at that, made of a nearly unbreakable steel alloy that would put most modern cybernetic models from the last year or two down to shame. Admittedly it is a non-marketed prototype due to certain connections you have (living and being in a relationship with two robot celebrities have that effect), but you’ve found it to be quite a wonderful piece of technology.

However, said arm isn’t exactly attached to your body at the present moment. Instead, it’s laying limp on the workbench two rooms down the hall, waiting for repairs like a hero back from the war. There’s a decidedly large chunk of metal sticking out of the upper portion of the arm, which was totally not your fault. After all, how could one blame you for it glitching and accidentally getting caught in some exercising equipment?

Actually, don’t answer that.

The most aggravating part is that you have to wait three days just to get it fixed, all because your personal mechanic responsible for the upkeep of your cybernetic arm and leg is out of town for the week. He promised to repair the limb as soon as he returns, but...that’s still a few days away. But hell, you can live for just a few damn days with one arm. As long as you don’t try to go out of the city and find a bear to wrestle (with which you would totally win), you’re probably alright. And it’s not like your leg needed repairs either, so if anything you’re just left to stay at home and read a book.

Reading a book is actually what you’re doing right now, to a degree. You’re actually listening to an audio-book while trying to toss together lunch for yourself, and it’s turning out to be a hell of a job with only one limb. The kitchen is bright, the sunlight filtering through and making the tiles of the floor almost glisten with a soft gold hue; it offers some sense of peace and warmth to the otherwise infuriating experience of cooking with one limb.

After all, all that’s on the stove is water to make yourself some ramen. That...shouldn’t be all that difficult, really, but time and time again when you decide to close a cabinet door or reach for a spoon, you stand there for almost three solid seconds before you realize that the limb you’re trying to reach with isn’t exactly there. Dammit. You spent nearly a year adapting to life with one arm, though having a replacement certainly took that sense away--it would be pretty hilarious if you weren’t entirely annoyed by the constant slipping of thoughts.

It takes a few minutes for the water to start boiling, to which you add the block of uncooked noodles (or were they precooked? It wasn’t as if you’ve ever particularly checked that fact before). They fall into the water and you put the lid on the pot, then set the timer to let them cook.

The air is still humming with the sound of the narrator for the book you aren’t actually listening to anymore. In fact, it’s a little confusing, and you’re not entirely sure how the hell the main character’s suddenly trying to scale a castle wall (didn’t they just cover that would get her killed like, the last chapter?). You don’t try to question it, and simply turn the sound down on your little speakers.

It wasn’t as if you were paying too much attention to them anyway.

With the air clipped of the sound, it’s silent and rather peaceful. In fact, it’s enough so that you take a few free moments just to lean back against the counter and close your eyes. The warm sunlight hits your stomach, warmth flooding through the fabric of your shirt and to your skin. It warms through abdomen, chest, and slowly floods your mind with a subtle sense of serenity you can’t seem to pin down in one singular spot in your body.

Of course, time is a thing that occurs regardless of your awareness for it or not, and the timer starts to beep and abruptly draws you out of your thoughts and self-enjoyment of the sunlight.

It takes a bit of fangling. but you soon have the noodles and the packet of flavoring all mixed together in a bowl. The smell seeps up into your nose, all earthy and strong in ways that make your stomach absolutely growl in hunger--you had forgotten to eat breakfast before going to the gym, and your stomach wasn’t at all about to let you forget that horrible mistake. But hey, you have food now and it smells absolutely delicious, even if it is a bit on the unhealthy side of things.

The livingroom is silent for the most part, with only the subtle sound of traffic outside dotting through the air, though that by itself was sparse and quiet. After all, the nice thing about the huge home you and the bots lived in was that it was located just off a road that was never all that busy--you never once found yourself annoyed with the sound of traffic outside, that’s for sure.

With a contented hum you plop yourself right onto the couch, fork between your lips and bowl of hot, delicious noodles in hand. Oh god, you’re hungry. Getting your cybernetic arm caught in the gym equipment definitely worked up a strong appetite. And the visual image of one of the managers at the gym apologizing profusely (despite that it really was your fault and not theirs) and offering to pay for the repairs is just what you need to keep a smile on your face. The guy had to have been a whole head shorter than you, really, with the short-cropped blonde hair and the strangest mustache you are very sure was popular twenty years ago. Well, you have an excuse to stay home the rest of the day.

The remote control is quickly grabbed from the couch cushion beside you, though even after flicking through most of the channels offered there isn’t all that much to watch. The news is going on about some grand opening of another McDonalds (the thought makes your nose scrunch a little bit--the smell of their sandwiches, while tasting good admittedly, always seem to make your stomach churn), and the Discovery channel has a documentary going about the supposed details about how human and robot sex worked and its physiological benefits. Well.

After a few minutes you eventually settled on some random cartoon. It’s amusing enough, and you can’t help but laugh at the childish violence and occasional one-liner that’s dropped every now and again. Enough to keep your attention, since you really, really don’t want to get up and grab a movie or turn on the adapter to connect the television to the internet and more specifically, youtube. You’ll probably just have more videos to watch tonight anyway, all curled up in the blanket of the bed while Thomas and Guy-Man are giving themselves their daily maintenance and such.

The second commercial flickers by, and you’re done with the food. You’re still too lazy to head back into the kitchen, and you don’t feel like recording your morning exercise into your log book (since that can really be done later), so you just set the bowl on the coffee table and settle yourself back, e/c eyes watching the flashing television contentedly. Not too long after that, the front door down the hall opens, and the sound easily indicates two pairs of feet. Oh, they’re home.

“y/n,” Thomas calls lightly in greeting. “We’ve returned home.”

“I hear you buddy,” You reply with a smile, eyes not entirely leaving the cartoon even as both of the bots move into the living room. For the most part you don’t turn your attention, not until one of them sits besides you and gestures to the empty space where your arm was well, admittedly not there.

“What happened?” The soft voice of Guy-Man is the only indicator you have before he’s gently pulling you into his lap, and you take the pulling with absolute lazy smothering, letting yourself sprawl belly-down over his lap, your head laying on the arm of the couch and watching the television still.

You don’t want to tell him that it glitched and caught in the gym equipment. Last time it glitched he went absolutely crazy about it ‘not being safe’ and whatnot. You can’t find enough irony in how he actively treats your new model prosthetics, since he was the one that got you connected with the prototypes in the first place. He still needs an answer though, because unlike Thomas ignoring him won’t entirely work. Dammit.

The cartoon flickers through a few more scenes and suddenly the thought comes into your mind. “A bear,” You say with assurance. For emphasis, you wave your hand in front of you dramatically. “I punched a bear so hard in the face that it broke my fist and uh, I have to have it repaired.”

Thomas enters the room a few moments after that, wiping his hands off with a dish towel and oh--when did he take your bowl from the table? Damn that bot loves to clean.

“I’m fairly certain that bears aren’t a common occurrence in this rural portion of the city,” he says, tone deadpan and his expression mirroring that as he moves around the coffee table and sits down on the couch next to your feet (T.T).

“Or in this country,” Guy-Man adds, one hand absently petting through your hair. You huff, the hand waving dramatically all over again.

“It was a giant, sentient bear,” You explain, because hell if you’re going to fib it’s going to be extreme and fabulous. “He challenged me, you know. Right there in the street. Our eyes met on either side, like this connection of wills. I looked at him-” You point to your eyes, then towards Thomas’ faceplate. “-and he looked at me. It would have been a dishonor for both of us for me to turn his challenge down.”

There’s simple silence in the room after that. Well, at least you can’t say you didn’t attempt something at all, and it was a pretty damn good story you made up on the spot.

Thomas sighs and rubs a face over his visor in a quirky habit of what would have been a facepalm for a human, and shifts his body over so you have your legs sprawled over his lap as well. Yes. Full control and claim of the couch and the bots. Granted it’s not the most comfortable position for your prosthetic leg to remain in for a long time, but you’re too lazy to care for the moment.

“Did it glitch again?” Guy-Man asks with an obviously concerned tone. You hesitate to answer, eyes not entirely moving to meet his faceplate.

“Maaaybe.”

“Dammit,” he curses. “That’s the second time this month alone, y/n.”

“It’s not like it nearly got me killed or anything,” You argue, gently poking him in the chest. “It was just a little glitch and it uh….got caught in the gym equipment.”

“IT WHAT?” His screen flashes with an exclamation point, and thank god that Thomas is quick to chime in.

“I think it’s to be expected; s/p is beta-testing a prototype model, Guy-Manuel.” Yes, Thomas is totally on your side with this one. You offer a placating smile for the other bot however, since he’s not nearly as calm about the little hiccup.

“s/p could have gotten r/p killed!”

“But I didn’t!” You chirp. “Totally alright! Just--just settle down alright?” You poke him again in the chest, and just for further measure you adjust your body to sit up in his lap and press a few kisses against his faceplate. “It wasn’t anything major. Seriously, more comical than anything. The auto-detach actually worked like a freakin’ charm so I just stood there like an idiot and watched my arm totally ruin a machine worth probably a couple thousand dollars.”

Guy-Man just lets out a long, exasperated chittering sounds, and you know he’s good. He totally can’t resist when you or Thomas turn on the charm. Hell, none of you three can resist when any of you turn on the charm. It’s this whole flirt-fest going on half the time.

Thomas gently rubs a hand against the knee of your non-metal leg, his voice taking on a softer tone as he says, “Please make sure to be careful that it doesn’t happen again?”

Well, you can’t deny that much, especially when Thomas’ hand moves to--oh yes, perfect. His fingers know exactly where to rub on your other knee, where the metal meets flesh just above your other knee. He knows exactly how to rub most of the aches away.

“I’ll send an error report to my mechanic and the company later tonight,” You promise with a nod. “I just have to get it hooked to my laptop, but that can totally be later because I am in heaven right now. Like, can you not ever stop Thomas?”

He merely chuckles, and definitely doesn’t stop. You’re a cat in their laps and neither of them can find reason to complain, it seems, even as you turn onto your belly again and smile when Guy’s hand keeps combing through your h/t, h/c hair. If you had the physical ability to purr, you’d be purring so loudly someone might mistake you three for having a cat in the house.

The cartoon is over a few minutes later, and the credits are crawling over the screen as Guy-Man starts up another conversation.

“You’ve contacted your mechanic, correct?”

“Yes,” you reply, completely expecting the inquiry, not to mention the ones following.

“You have it on the work bench?”

“Yup.”

“You double-checked that the auto-detach didn’t mess with the other cords in the base?”

“As soon as I had the moment.”

“And you did a diagnostics for your leg to make sure it won’t have the same issue?”

Oh. Well, admittedly you haven’t yet done that yet. Ah crap. You make a soft noise of annoyance and merely nuzzle into the other’s throat.

“I didn’t feel like it.” There’s a few moments where you actively expect the golden bot to huff in annoyance or try to lecture you on the precautions you need to take with the prototypes, but instead he merely wraps an arm around your waist.

“We can do it later tonight for you when we run our nightly system check,” he says. Ah yes, awesome, because now you don’t have to move and yes. You are totally cool with all of this. Thomas is still gently rubbing at your knee, and Guy-Man seems content enough after a while that he just picks up one of the books he’s been reading off and on from the table beside the couch, still petting through your hair.

Dammit, it just can’t get better than this some days, even when you are technically arm-less.


End file.
